I Wish Heaven Was on Speed-Dial (Part 1)
Every now and then, when I’m going through a really hard time, I find a stray animal. Well, really, they find me. Sounds strange, doesn’t it? But it’s true. It all started the day my grandmother passed away…
My gramma, Betty, was a cat fanatic. She was an animal-lover in general, but cats were her favorite. We had grown up with my grandparents and they always had cats while I was growing up. Cat paraphernalia was spewed all over the house; those cutesy-type, feline trinkets that said things like, “Dogs think they’re human, cats know they are” could be found in every room of the house. The day she died, I headed over to a friend’s house in the evening. I had been living with my grandparents at the time but was too depressed, understandably, to hang out in her house the night of her death. As I was on the phone with another friend telling her my gramma had passed around three that afternoon, I looked up to see a strange, grey cat staring at me through the back, basement window.
“Hey! Your cat wants in” I called to my friend. “What?” she called. I repeated, “Your cat! It wants in!” My friend walked into the room. Staring at the furry face, she said, “That’s not my cat. I’ve never seen that cat before.” This cat, rubbing affectionately against the window, was meowing at me like we were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in a long time. Like an old bestie who was locked outside in the pouring rain sans umbrella with that silly look in their eyes saying, “Come onnnnn.” In other words, she was asking for our help (in her own kitty-like way).
We met the cat at the back door. Bam! Right away it hit me. My gramma, the cat-lover extraordinaire, passes away earlier that day (just as I went out to get lunch, in fact) and out of the blue this cat finds me in my friend’s basement? It was too weird. Too weird that I knew it was her.
I knew this was a message, but what? My friend (who at this point thought I was losing my marbles, but let’s face, I lost half of mine long ago) suggested maybe my gramma was just trying to tell me that she had made it to heaven okay. Or…she wanted me to have a cat? (I liked the latter idea better). Nevertheless, the cat would not leave the house. She didn’t belong to any neighbours (yes, I checked) and she had no tags and no tattoo.
I decided to try and take my new found friend home for the night since she was still outside when I was leaving. The lumpy sac of fur was having none of it. Who knew that cats didn't like being shoved into boxes? Frustrated and defeated (this cat had some scrappiness in her), I finally looked up at the sky and said, “Fine. I got your message; you’re okay.”
The next morning my friend called me. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Nothing. Just driving home” I told her. I’ll never forget the words that came out of her beautiful mouth next: “Well…you wanna come get your damn cat?” Apparently, every time she looked outside, the cat was there staring at her through the window. Ha ha. Picture that!
I decided to bring the cat to a great, local, animal shelter. This time, I just shoved my new, lumpy friend in my truck. I had discovered that cats and boxes don’t mix unless your last name is Schrödinger.
“Do you have a name for her for now?” the shelter lady asked after we checked in. “Let’s just call her, ‘Betty’.” I grinned. And you know what? No one came for Betty. (Sad, but it worked out for me). I had no idea why she chose that basement window to peer into. I had no idea where she came from or how far her pink pubbies had traveled, but I did know that she belonged to me now. I had found her and now she was coming home with me. It was then that I realized, Betty had actually found me and when I was in most need of being found.
And you know what else? If my gramma were to look like a cat, she'd pretty much look like this one. (^_^)
To be continued…